


The Imp, the Cyclops, and the Jackalope

by thedogdelusion



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedogdelusion/pseuds/thedogdelusion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ignored by skeptical teammates, Scout and Demoman must team up to battle a vicious beast from American folklore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As the sun went down over Badwater Basin, Scout stood on the rooftop of the RED base, surveying the surrounding desert. In the gathering darkness, the dirt and scrub beyond the base's perimeter looked gray and indistinct.

It was his nightly ritual to come up here, take a look around, then get back inside as quickly as he could. There was something about this place that gave him the creeps, more than any of the other far-flung places to which the team had been sent. The base stood miles from civilization, surrounded by nothing but dirt and rocks, creating an effect that gave Scout a distinct case of the willies. That was why he was out on the rooftop, scoping out his surroundings. From this vantage point, he could make sure, each night, that the base wasn't about to be attacked by zombies or aliens.

Not that he was scared or anything.

The rooftop hatch banged open just feet behind him. "GAH! JESUS!" Scout yelled, in a voice several notes higher than usual. He whipped around at the sound of the wooden crash.

"Relax, lad, it's just me." The voice of Demoman came rising from within the hatch as he climbed up the ladder.

"Jesus, man, don't sneak up on me like that!" Scout's voice had returned to normal, but his breathing remained heavy.

Demoman hoisted himself through the hatch and onto the rooftop, his footing a bit wobbly. "I've never been up here before," he said, throwing his arms out to regain his balance. With his foot, he closed the hatch behind him.

"Yeah, well, you ain't usually in a fit state to climb ladders, are ya?" said Scout.

Demoman narrowed his eye at Scout. "You watch yourself, laddie. I've had enough of you mother hens clucking away at me."

"Hey, I was just kidding!" Scout said quickly, putting his hands up. The last thing he needed was a scuffle with a drunken cyclops on a slanted rooftop.

Demoman glared at Scout for several more seconds, then turned his gaze to the surrounding darkness. "What are you doing up here, anyway?" he asked, pulling a small flask out of his pocket.

"Nothing," Scout said. He shivered as a gust of cold wind blew, ruffling his clothes. "I was about to go inside anyway."

"Kinda spooky, isn't it?" Demoman said, taking in the view and sipping from his flask.

"Uh...no," Scout said. "Nothing to be scared of, you big baby. Now let's go inside." He took a step toward the hatch, but Demoman was standing on it, seemingly oblivious. Another gust of wind blew in, nearly blowing Scout's hat off. "Hey, get out of the way, you dumb ox!" he said, trying unsuccessfully to push Demoman off the hatch. "It's fucking sc-...cold out here!"

Demoman didn't answer. He was staring intently at a spot in the darkness down below. He squinted his eye and muttered something to himself.

Curious in spite of himself, Scout followed Demoman's gaze. He couldn't see anything at first, just the same darkness that surrounded the base. But then, as his eyes adjusted, he saw...something. Barely discernible through the blackness, Scout could vaguely make out movement on the outside of the fence down below. It was some kind of animal, about the size of a coyote, and it seemed to be prowling.

"Hey, Demo," Scout said, not taking his eyes off the thing, "what the hell is that?"

"I might be wrong," Demoman said, taking another sip from his flask and continuing to gaze down at the creature. "I hope I'm wrong."

"What the fuck are you saying, man?" Scout said, his voice rising once again.

"Unless I'm mistaken, that's a...a..." Demoman's voice trailed off.

The thing, whatever it was, had begun to scale the fence. When it reached the top, it paused for a moment, long enough for Scout to make out its shape in the pale moonlight. It looked like some kind of hideously deformed rabbit, abnormally large with fierce looking claws and glowing red eyes. Scout was a city boy, unaccustomed to seeing wild animals, but even he knew that rabbits didn't have antlers like this one did, especially not ones that looked big enough and sharp enough to gore a fully grown man.

"RUN!" shouted Demoman. He turned around and flung the hatch open, jumping straight down without a moment's hesitation.

With an embarrassingly girly shriek, Scout followed, pausing at the top of the ladder to close and lock the hatch after him. He looked down to see Demoman getting up from an apparently rough landing.

Standing upright once again, Demoman turned to Scout, a truly wild look in his eye. "Come on, lad, there's no time to lose." He turned and began walking quickly down the hall.

"Yo, Demo! Wait!" Scout hopped off the ladder and followed Demoman as he marched away. "What the hell's going on? What the fuck was that?"

"You'll know soon enough," said Demoman darkly.

The main portion of the Badwater base wasn't very big, so Demoman's preferred method of calling a meeting (by stomping through the halls and literally calling out "MEETING!") proved surprisingly effective.

"Vat is happening?" came Medic's annoyed voice from the infirmary. He poked his head through the doorway, with a look on his face that could have curdled milk.

Scout, who was afraid of Medic even at the best of times, pointed nervously at Demoman as the two of them passed.

"Zis had better have a purpose, young one," Medic said, as if Scout were the one marching through the halls and shouting at the top of his lungs. With one last withering glare, he joined step with them.

The three of them made their way to the conference room (which Soldier had insisted be dubbed the "war room"), Heavy and Pyro trailing in after them.

"Why do we have meeting so late?" boomed Heavy.

"Clearly we are under a surprise BLU attack!" Soldier yelled, marching in and taking his place at the head of the table.

"Well that sure as heck can't be right," said Engineer, who came in behind Soldier wearing a somewhat garish set of flannel pajamas and slippers.

A snorting laugh came from an empty corner. "Don't tell me you sleep in _that_ ," said Spy, materializing in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

"What's going on?" said Sniper as he walked in, his clothes and hair caked with dirt.

"Vat have you been doing?" asked Medic, taking in Sniper's appearance.

"Napping," said Sniper, apparently confused that anyone would need to ask.

Everyone but Spy took a seat at the long table, chatting and bickering amongst themselves.

"Vell?" said Medic as soon as everyone had settled in. "Explain yourself, Herr Demoman."

Demoman took a deep breath and a gulp from his flask before speaking. "Not five minutes ago, Scout and I saw something outside. I could hardly believe it at first, but there was no mistake. I know you lot might not believe us, but your very lives depend upon following my orders _exactly_. This thing is a threat not only to the base, but to the very fabric of this whole bloody team."

"Get to the point," said Spy.

Demoman glared at Spy, but continued. "Just now, right outside, Scout and I saw...a jackalope."

The silence that followed this statement lasted ten full seconds.

"What is 'jackalope'?" asked Heavy finally.

"It's a beast from American folklore," said Engineer. "It's traditionally depicted as the hellish offspring of a pygmy deer and a man-eating jackrabbit. Extremely cunning, undoubtedly dangerous, but," and here he looked at Demoman, "no more real than the chupacabra."

"The chupacabra is real, and so is the jackalope!" Demoman shouted. "I saw it with me own bloody eye! And so did the boy here!" Unhelpfully, he pointed at Scout with his flask.

"Hey, I never heard of no jackalope," said Scout, "but I did see something out there. And that shit did _not_ look normal, alright?"

"Herr Demoman," said Medic, eyeing the flask, "are you sure you haven't ha-"

"Stop telling me I've had enough!" shouted Demoman.

"This is an outrage!" yelled Soldier. "Are you telling me that we are wasting the time that we should be using to rest for tomorrow's battle on this? Private, your drinking is a disgrace to this entire unit!"

"I'm telling the truth!" Demoman yelled back. "If we don't find it and kill it, it'll terrorize us! Do any of you want to wake up getting your leg gnawed off? Respawn or not, that's a slow way to die, boyo!"

"We are expected to believe the testimony of _you_ two?" said Spy. "A paranoid drunk and an idiot child?"

"Hey, no one asked you, fuckface!" said Scout, rising from his seat.

"Alright, let's everyone just calm down," said Engineer, getting up to step between Scout and Spy. He turned to Demoman. "Now, I ain't denying that you might have seen something out there, but the likelihood of it being a jackalope is pretty darn...remote."

"Ask him if you don't believe us!" said Demoman, pointing his flask at Sniper. "You were just outside. Did you see anything?"

"What makes you think I was outside?" said Sniper, scratching his head and raising a cloud of dust. "Anyway, I just said I was asleep."

"Look, we're telling the truth, alright?" said Scout. "And we know what we saw."

"Scout," said Engineer gently, "d'ya remember that time at Yukon when you thought you saw a grizzly bear in the kitchen, and it turned out to be a potbelly stove?" Scout opened his mouth to make an indignant response but was silenced by Engineer holding up a hand. "All I'm saying is that you seem to have-"

"The intellect of a saucepan," interrupted Spy.

"-an overactive imagination," finished Engineer.

"If zat is all, zen I vill be going now," said Medic, standing up to leave. Everyone but Scout and Demoman followed suit.

"Hey, what the hell?" said Scout. "You guys can't leave! That thing's still on the loose!"

"Why don't you two get some rest," said Engineer, not unkindly.

Scout watched glumly as the room emptied. "Well? What do we do now?" he said, turning to Demoman.

"It's just you and me, lad," Demoman said, his brow creased in thought. After a moment, he seemed to decide something. "I know where to start. Let's go."

As Demoman stood up to leave, Scout followed. "Man, I hope you know what you're doing."

Demoman looked back, a mad grin on his face. "'Course I do, lad. Bloody bastard won't know what hit it."


	2. Chapter 2

Scout followed Demoman as he stomped through the base. Demoman seemed to have all but forgotten the team's derision, which Scout couldn't help but admire.

Once they reached the base's living quarters, Demoman flung open the door to his room. It was tiny, as was everyone's room in the base, but seemed even smaller under the piles of clutter strewn about.

"What the hell have you been doing in here?" Scout asked, taking in the mess of bottles, clothes, tools, and (worryingly) bomb-making materials that covered every surface.

"Never you mind, lad," said Demoman, digging through piles of junk and riffling through the contents of trunks and drawers.

Scout took a step forward, hoping to help Demoman find whatever he was looking for, but immediately stepped back when he saw what looked like live dynamite on the floor.

"I hope you're looking for some big-ass grenade cannon to blow that thing to pieces," Scout said, fidgeting where he stood.

"Not quite," said Demoman. From the bottom of a chipped wooden trunk, he pulled a massive, leather-bound book. The cover read, "Dr. Salvador's Guide to Desert Beasts, Monsters, and Varmints." Underneath the heading was a sepia-toned photograph of a man in saggy overalls, presumably Dr. Salvador, standing next to a giant stuffed monster that appeared to be part coyote, part mountain lion. Demoman opened the book and began flipping through the pages.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," said Scout. "A _book_? How's a book ever helped anyone?"

"Shut your bloody mouth, you git, I'm concentrating." Demoman continued flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Here it is," he said, turning the book around to show Scout. On the page was an illustration of the very creature Scout had seen earlier, complete with deadly-sharp antlers and big floppy ears. Turning the book back around, Demoman began to read. "It says here that the jackalope can be lured into traps with whiskey."

"You sure we're not talking about you, pal?"

"If we set a trap with whiskey," Demoman continued, ignoring Scout, "it'll drink its fill and be too sluggish to run away or use any of its tricks."

"Tricks? What do you mean?"

"It says that the jackalope can imitate human voices. It might try to confuse us by throwing its voice and misdirecting us." Demoman continued reading the book's entry on jackalopes, his lips moving slightly with the words.

For a moment, Scout could only gape. "What the hell?" he said, wide-eyed. "Look, I want to blow this thing's brains out as much as you do, but...whiskey? Human voices? Am I really supposed to belie-"

He was interrupted by a scratching sound on the wall outside Demoman's window.

In a split second, Scout pulled out his scattergun. "'regonnadieohmygo-"

"Calm down and shut up!" Demoman hissed, putting the book down. He walked over to his makeshift minibar: a battered trunk with an array of liquor bottles in various states of fullness laid out on top. He selected a half full bottle of rich brown liquid and stuffed it into the front pouch of his utility belt. He turned to Scout, who was still pointing his scattergun at the window. "This is no time to be scared. We've got a beast to slay."

"Hey, I ain't scared!" said Scout, his terrified expression turning into one of indignation.

"'Course you aren't," said Demoman with a humorless smirk. "Now come on, lad." Slinging a sticky bomb launcher over his shoulder, he strode out of the room, Scout trotting behind him.

The two of them exited the base through a side door overlooking the terminus. Descending the stairs to the ground level, they crept as lightly as a pair of chain-smoking French ghosts.

In the darkness, Scout strained his eyes in search of movement or strange shapes, but saw nothing. Aside from their footsteps, the only sound was the dry whistle of the desert wind.

They walked along the track and up the ramp that led to the rest of the base. Turning the corner, they found a clump of scrub and tumbleweed against a wall. After looking around to make sure the jackalope was nowhere to be seen, Demoman shot three sticky bombs into the pile, then covered them up. Next, he took a bucket that had been propped up against the wall, tipped half the whiskey into it, and placed it in the middle of the pile.

Demoman pointed to a hiding spot on the upper level of one of the buildings along the track, a place where Sniper usually hung out during battle. After the two of them crept up the stairs and into the darkness, Demoman beckoned Scout close. "The whiskey'll lure it," he whispered. "All we have to do is wait. Once it's had its fill, then we blow the bastard to chunky kibble!"

"Hell yeah," Scout whispered back.

They stood on either side of the window overlooking the tracks, and waited. Demoman kept his finger hovering over the sticky bomb detonator. Scout, trying hard not to fidget, gripped his scattergun, eyes locked on the trap.

As they stood waiting, Scout considered his situation. The base was being stalked by some fucked up, flesh-eating mutant rabbit. That wasn't cool. Everyone else thought they were full of shit and refused to help. Also not cool. But on the other hand, it felt good to actually do something about it. Scout had never been the type to sit still when he could be taking action. And if he got to do some problem-solving with his scattergun, all the better. Plus hanging out with Demoman was never dull.

In spite of his fear, he had to admit that he was having fun.

A faint rustling sound broke Scout's train of thought. It seemed to be coming from down below, but he saw no sign of movement at the trap.

"Demo," he whispered, "what's going o-"

Scout was interrupted by a low growl coming from behind him.

"Keep...quiet," Demoman whispered.

Scout gave Demoman an incredulous look. The jackalope was clearly behind them. What good would waiting do? "Fuck that!" said Scout. He whirled around, pointed his scattergun in the direction from which the growl had come, and pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation.

He expected to see a dead jackalope lying on the ground. But even in the dark, he could tell that nothing was there.

"You bloody idiot!" Demoman hissed. "I already told you jackalopes can throw their voices! You just gave away our position!"

"What?" said Scout, a look of horror on his face. The growling continued, louder now, and coming from another direction. "Oh man," said Scout, whipping his head around, trying to find the jackalope. "This is not cool, this is not cool, this is not-AAAAHH!"

Seemingly from nowhere, something furry leaped from the shadows and onto Scout's chest. He flew backwards, his gun skidding out of reach. He screamed and clawed at the creature, which seemed to be trying to take a bite out of his face. In the frenzy, Scout could make out a menacing pair of buckteeth, and glowing red eyes. As he fought, frantically trying to pry the thing off of his chest, the jackalope's sharp, jagged antlers cut his hands.

With a thud, the jackalope was knocked away. Looking up, Scout saw Demoman wielding the nearly empty whiskey bottle.

"Move!" Demoman shouted as he jumped out the window.

Picking up his scattergun, Scout hopped to his feet and followed. He paused for a second at the window, chancing a look back. The jackalope lay crumpled on the floor, but was already getting back up.

Scout and Demoman ran along the tracks, up the wooden ramp, crossing the unofficial border into BLU territory. Scout ran ahead into one of the concrete structures. Dashing up the stairs, he found himself on a rooftop. He looked down to the other side of the building and saw several BLU and RED shipping containers. Leaping down, he found one that was unlocked, and threw the door open. He looked back to see Demoman taking a clumsy tumble off the rooftop. Beckoning wildly, Scout held the door open long enough for Demoman to get inside the container, then slammed the door shut.

"I don't think we were followed," said Demoman. It was too dark in the shipping container to see anything, but he sounded thoroughly winded.

"It came right at me!" Scout said in a frantic whisper. "Can you freakin' believe that?"

"Yes, actually," said Demoman, sounding annoyed. "You started shouting and shooting like a bloody bawbag right after I told you to keep quiet. You're lucky I managed to catch it off guard."

"I coulda handled it," said Scout, without much conviction.

"Thanks to you, we need to go to plan B. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this."

"Oh yeah? And what's plan B?"

"We'll have to lure it back with a mating call."

"What the fuck?" said Scout, horrified. "You mean we have to call it back to us, only now it'll be vicious _and_ horny? Are you out of your mind?"

"According to Dr. Salvador, it's the only other way. Unless you'd rather wake up some night with that thing on your chest again. It already knows your scent."

Scout contemplated the idea, and shivered. "Alright, fine, I'm in. What do we do?"

"Okay," said Demoman, rubbing his palms together. "We're going to need to turn you into a lady."

" _What_?!"


	3. Chapter 3

Creeping along and sticking to the shadows, Scout and Demoman made their way back to the terminus. After 20 minutes of frenzied searching for anything that might make one of them pass for a woman, the best they could find was an oversized potato sack that could serve as a dress, and a mop for a wig. After another 10 minutes of ferocious argument, it was agreed that Scout, being the smaller of the two, should serve as the decoy-in-drag.

They now stood in a darkened corner overlooking the terminus, preparing for their next offensive.

"If you tell anyone about this, I swear to god I'll bust your kneecaps," Scout said, cutting armholes into the potato sack.

"Don't worry about me, lad," Demoman said, taking a sip from a hip flask. "I'm a tight-lipped drunk." He stifled a snicker.

"Oh yeah? What about that time you got wasted and told everyone I screamed when I found a spider in my baseball glove?"

"I didn't tell them that because I was drunk. I told them because it was funny. Now hurry up, lassie."

"Alright, alright, jeez!" Scout pulled the potato sack over his clothes. Next, he stuffed the mop handle down the back of his shirt, letting the filthy yarns fall over his head. Even without a mirror, Scout knew he looked ridiculous. "Please tell me whatever we're doing is gonna be quick."

"It'll be quick if you do as I say and don't try to be a bloody hero again. Now listen closely. One of the jackalope's weaknesses is for defenseless-looking farmgirls."

"What the hell? What the fuck is it gonna do to me?"

"Nothing, if you don't screw this up. As I was saying, the male jackalope responds to various mating calls, including the helpless wail of a distressed maiden. Female jackalopes are known to imitate the sound themselves."

"Wait, how do you know this one's a guy?"

Demoman looked uncomfortable. "Well, if you had seen that attack from _my_ vantage point..."

"Ugh!" said Scout, wrinkling his face. "Nevermind, don't finish that sentence. Let's just fucking do this already."

"Alright. Now go out and stand on the tracks. I'll guide you from here."

With a quick look around, Scout crept out of the shadows and onto the tracks, just feet from the terminus. "Okay, what do I do?" he whispered to Demoman.

"You need to call it," Demoman whispered back. "Put on a high-pitched voice and make yourself sound like a farmgirl in distress!"

"God, this is so humiliating," Scout groaned.

"Just do it and it'll be over before you know it. As soon as you lure the beastie, I'll catch it off guard with me grenade launcher."

"Fine, just don't hit me. That thing ain't exactly built for precision."

"I know what I'm doing, lad, now hurry up and call it!"

Scout sighed, hating his life at the moment. "H-help me," he croaked, way too quietly. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Help me," he said, this time in a high, girly voice. "I'm a defenseless chick and I'm all...defenseless and shit!"

"Oh, that's clever," Demoman muttered from the corner.

"Help me!" Scout said, louder. "I'm a girl and I need help or something!" He stopped to listen, expecting to hear the telltale growl once more. Straining his ear, he thought he could make out a strange sound in the distance. "Hello?" he called, his girly voice cracking. "Someone gonna help me or..."

His voice trailed off. He heard the sound again, more clearly this time. But it wasn't the jackalope.

"Hon hon hon," came the sound.

"What the?" Scout said, his voice returning to its normal pitch. He recognized the sound of Spy's laughter, coming from the direction of the main building. He made to run back to the shadows.

"Stop!" Demoman hissed. "It's the jackalope! It's imitating voices, remember? It's trying to confuse you!"

"Are you fucking sure?" said Scout. "If you're wrong, I'm even more screwed than if we don't kill it!"

"Yes I'm bloody sure, now get back out there!"

The snorting laughter continued, louder and stronger now. Scout gritted his teeth and stepped back onto the tracks. "Help?" he said, back to his girly voice, but with much less conviction. To his horror, he thought he could hear a clicking sound, like the shutter of a camera. "Demo, this is fucking stupid! I can hear Spy taking pictures of me! You wear the dress if you care so damn much!"

"Bloody hell, Scout!" said Demoman. "Can't you just do as I say? There's no one awake right now! The beastie is trying to trick you again, because it knows you're stupid enough to fall for it twice!"

"Hey, I ain't stupid!" said Scout, stung by this remark.

"Then prove it! Either we kill this thing tonight, or it gets away. And if it does get away, it'll be because you couldn't follow me dead simple instructions!"

"Okay, fine!" Scout said, returning to his position on the tracks. "Hey!" he said, his voice high-pitched once again. "Someone come help me already! I'm a farmgirl and I'm lost or something! And my cow ran off!" He swung his head, swishing his mop-wig in an incredibly clumsy attempt at seductiveness.

Almost immediately, Scout began to hear growling. It sounded different now, more like a purr. He looked over at the dark corner where Demoman was hiding, hoping for some kind of cue.

"Uh," Scout said, his high-pitched voice cracking. "I'm so...helpless."

The purring grew louder and closer.

"I need some..."

He heard the sound of thumping steps just inches behind him.

"...some..."

Something furry touched his leg.

"HELP!"

He dove out of the way just as Demoman launched a grenade. Throwing himself onto the ground, he covered his head when he heard the explosion behind him.

A few moments later, as the smoke cleared, Scout jumped back to his feet. "Hey, Demo, we did it!" he yelled.

"Where is it?" Demoman said, stepping out of his hiding place.

Scout barely heard Demoman. He had already pulled the potato sack off, the mop discarded on the ground.

"Hold on!" said Demoman. "Leave the dress on! If we didn't kill it, and it sees it's been tricked, it's going to be..."

From within the terminus came a horrible roar, far more vicious than anything they had heard that night.

"...pissed."

Scout watched in horror as a paw, bloody and mangled, rose from within the terminus and gripped the edge of the concrete.

"Scout!"

Scout looked over just in time to see Demoman toss him his scattergun. Armed once again, he turned back to the approaching jackalope. It had pulled itself back onto the surface. It was visibly injured, but didn't look any weaker for it.

"You're mine now fucker!" said Scout. He squeezed the trigger of his scattergun, but the jackalope somehow managed to anticipate the shot, and dodged out of the way.

"It's not distracted anymore!" said Demoman, his eye locked on the jackalope. "It's too agile! Shooting it will be twice as hard!"

The jackalope growled at Scout, its fur matted with blood and its eyes burning more brightly than before. It revved up for another pounce. Scout double-jumped out of the way just in time. He landed behind the jackalope and fired another shot, but even with its back turned, it dodged once again.

"It's no use!" said Demoman. "We'll have to outsmart it!"

"Got any bright ideas?" said Scout, watching the jackalope turn around to make another attack.

"You've got to let me hit you!"

"Uh, what? I'm kinda busy right now!" Scout somersaulted to avoid another attack, just barely.

"I said you've got to let me hit you! Right now, it thinks we're nothing more than prey. But if it thinks one of us is a challenger to his alpha male status, it'll be distracted by territorial rage! It said so in the book!"

"What else was in that book that you're not telling me?" Scout said, as the jackalope circled him.

"That was it! This is our last strategy!"

Scout dodge-rolled another attack. He was starting to get tired and dizzy. "Alright, fine! If it'll get this thing off my ass!"

No sooner had Scout regained his footing from his last dodge when Demoman unceremoniously punched him in the cheek.

Scout flew backwards, his vision clouded by stars.

"And stay down!" bellowed Demoman.

Sprawled on the ground, Scout heard the jackalope pause, then begin growling again facing Demoman.

"Aww, look at the wee baby bunny rabbit!" Demoman slurred. "Easter was three months ago, you bloody numpty!"

Still seeing double, Scout squinted his eyes. He could just barely make out the jackalope, rearing on its hind legs and growling at Demoman.

"Such a cute little bunny. Why don't you come give me a kiss?" Demoman puckered his lips and kissed the air in such a ridiculous manner that Scout would have laughed himself stupid at any other time.

Enraged, the jackalope pounced. Demoman tried to dodge, but the creature was too fast. It latched itself onto Demoman's shoulder, clawing and biting wildly.

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" Demoman yelled, flailing his arms in an attempt to keep the jackalope from taking a chunk out of his face.

Still on the ground, Scout looked to the side. Luckily, his scattergun had landed within arm's reach when he went flying. Grabbing it, he sat up and tried to aim. "Stand still, will ya?" Scout shouted.

Demoman spun around trying to get the jackalope off of him. He seemed to have no concept of which direction he was facing. In the frenzied confusion, he began inching further away from Scout's shooting range.

"Screw this," Scout said. Standing up, he reached into his pack and pulled out a baseball. Still fighting dizziness from Demoman's punch, he stumbled a bit, but quickly regained his footing. Focusing on the fight in front of him, he waited until the jackalope was within his line of sight. Then, winding up, he pitched the ball into the fray.

With a sickening clunk, the baseball hit the jackalope squarely on the forehead. It slunk to the ground in a daze. Not wasting a moment, Scout reached for his scattergun once more. He began to sprint over to the fallen jackalope, but it was already getting back to its feet. Hoping to stay out of its sight, Scout double-jumped in a perfect arc. On his descent, he saw the top of the jackalope's horned head directly below him.

"Hey, jackassalope!" Scout called from midair. The jackalope looked up just in time to see the barrel of the scattergun. Scout pulled the trigger a split second before landing right in the jackalope's vicious jaws. The beast's head exploded in a pink mist so fine it would have brought a tear to Sniper's eye.

The moment Scout's feet hit the ground, he succumbed to his dizziness once more and dropped to his knees. He shut his eyes and let the world spin. Aside from his own panting breath, he heard nothing but silence. The jackalope's decapitated body remained motionless beside him.

After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. "We did it!" said Demoman. He extended a hand to Scout, helping him back to his feet. "Couldn'ta done it without you, lad!"

"I can't believe you really punched me!" said Scout, rubbing his cheek.

"Oh, quit your bellyaching." Demoman picked up the headless jackalope corpse, spun himself around a few times for momentum, and hurled it back over the same fence it had first crawled over. Then he picked up the head, a gory mess but still mostly intact, and studied it for a moment. "I think I'll mount this," he said with a grin.

"Ugh!" Scout grimaced.

"I mean stuff it and put it on me wall, you thick-headed git."

"Oh. Well that's cool." Scout thought for a moment. "Man, it's gonna be so friggin' awesome when we tell everyone what we did."

"Ha!" squawked Demoman. "You think anyone would believe us?"

"But we've got proof right there!" Scout said, pointing at the hideous, blood-drenched head.

"You think a stupid thing like this is going to make any of them believe _us_? You saw how they acted when we tried to warn them. No, I'd say it's better off just letting it go."

"But we saved their asses!" cried Scout. "I'm supposed to just pretend I didn't do a bunch of badass shit tonight?"

Demoman pulled out his hip flask with his free hand and took as swig. "Well? Either try to tell them and have them laugh at you again, or stay quiet and be happy that you helped take out one of the most vicious beasties of the desert. Your choice."

Scout mulled it over. He hated the idea of getting no recognition for what he had done that night. But he had to admit that Demoman had a point. "You know?" he said after a few moments. "You're pretty smart for a drunk."

Demoman responded with a long belch.

***

The night's events left Scout and Demoman with about two hours sleep. Next morning, Scout sat at breakfast with the rest of the RED team, willing himself to keep his mouth shut.

"It would appear that you had a long night, Herr Demoman," Medic said, watching with condescension as Demoman's eyelid drooped over his breakfast of oatmeal and whiskey.

"Wha?" Demoman said. His eye snapped open, only to immediately droop once again.

"Hungover again?" said Spy. "This team is simply _blessed_ to have you on it."

Scout opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped by a warning grunt from Demoman.

"I'm fine, you bunch of nursemaids," Demoman slurred.

No one at the table seemed convinced, but the matter dropped.

"Here," said Scout, passing Demoman a can of Bonk. "This'll perk you up."

Demoman made a grateful noise and poured the bright red liquid into his whiskey.

"Mission begins in five minutes," came the Administrator's voice over the base's PA system.

Demoman drained the oddly colored concoction in three quick gulps. He stood up suddenly, completely revived. "Haaaave at 'em, lads!" he bellowed, running off to the locker room with the rest of the team in tow.

The only one to lag behind was Spy. He slipped out of the dining area unnoticed and into the base's rec room. From his jacket pocket he pulled a large piece of folded paper. Unfolding it revealed a poster-sized image of Scout from the previous night, wearing the hideous potato sack dress and flourishing his mop-hair. Pinning the picture prominently on the room's bulletin board, Spy laughed to himself before walking off to join the others.


End file.
